Thoughts Happen

Mating for Life

The pelicans streamed in front of our boat in a single-file line, skimming the surface of the water so closely and so gracefully that they would make any surfer envious. They kept coming, in a stream — a ribbon of birds floating above the waves, heading south. Over a hundred of them there must have been.  

There was one place where they rose up and came down again, making a bell curve of  birds catching some unseen updraft off the surface.

It was a perfect day for sailing off the Oceanside coast, with a steady breeze giving us good speed, none of the rain we had feared and just enough swell to make it interesting. The pelicans put it over the top.

None of us had ever seen that many pelicans together at once. Five or six you’ll see, maybe a dozen, but never this many. My husband and I and the crew of the catamaran from BajaSail.net were mesmerized watching them. Finally the line petered out and they became smaller and smaller, an ellipsis disappearing over the crests of the waves.

It was the kind of moment you can’t plan for and are damn lucky you are paying attention enough to notice. Watching them go, I realized that we had just gotten the best anniversary present ever, for it so happens that 18 years ago to the day my husband and I took our vows of for better or worse in front of family and friends and then celebrated with them on a boat docked in San Diego Bay. No pelicans that day, but a stellar April afternoon regardless.

Those intervening years have had their for betters, and indeed their for worses, but I realize I’m pretty lucky to have someone who has rolled with the changes and still wants to be with me.   

Someone who has listened to my career angst as an unhappy engineer, celebrated with me when I got my first article published and reminds me to keep querying when I get a rejection. 

He also thanks me for doing the grocery shopping and laundry, doesn’t mind the “interesting” vegetarian dishes I sometimes spring on the family, and moves the furniture when he vacuums the carpets (I hate vacuuming the carpets). 

He provides free, patient tech support for my parents, claps for me at karaoke as long as I don’t ask him to sing, and knows that I will probably never stop talking to myself even though it bugs him. 

He also reads every one of my blog posts.

So thanks, sweetheart — for opening my eyes to the elegance and grace of pelicans, and so much more.

Photo of Pelican courtesy Elizabeth Haslam via Creative Commons license

50 Years and Counting

My parents got married a little over 50 years ago, in a very small wedding held in the home of a friend, with just close family and a few friends attending. Mom was 20 years old and still in college, Dad was 23 and a recent graduate. They loved each other, but neither of them really knew what they were doing.

 They didn’t learn a lot about communicating from their parents. Mom’s parents divorced when she was in high school, and Dad’s parents, while they had a stable marriage, were of Northern European stock known for reservedness and reticence.

A couple of years after the wedding my sister appeared on the scene, and five years later I did too. Mom and Dad were loving, responsible parents who made time for us kids and raised us in a stable home with lots of good family memories. But they still didn’t know how to talk to each other.

If there was any discord, my sister and I were oblivious, acknowledging their anniversary every year with homemade cards or flowers. For me, the accumulation of years meant little; I was much more focused on my own birthdays and milestones. My parents accrued another year of marriage every spring — why wouldn’t they?

It wasn’t until I was in my 20s that the accumulated strain of over 25 years of miscommunication, unbuffered by having kids at home, started showing. They considered divorce. I don’t know how many times or how close they actually came over the following decade, but it was more than once.

I couldn’t let myself believe it would actually happen. Mom and Dad had always been there, together. For my own self-centered reasons I hoped and prayed they would find some way to stay together. And somehow, they did.

And here’s where the tiny miracle comes in. Over the past 15 years, despite hurt feelings, generations of family history against them and feeling way outside their comfort zone, my parents, with some help, learned to talk to each other. And along the way discovered a renewed tenderness, love and deep respect for the person on the other side of the breakfast table, flaws and all.

This year the anniversary clock hit 50 years. Let me say that again — 50 years. I’m a bit embarrassed to say that this is the first year that I’ve really stopped to think what that means.

Nobody tells you when you get married that it won’t always be easy. And if they do tell you, you don’t believe them. To know that my parents stayed committed to each other for 50 years, and that they stuck it out through some very tough times, is both humbling and inspiring.

In Anna Quindlen’s book, “One True Thing,” the main character, a grown child of parents who stay together through a tested marriage, says, 

“'No one knows what goes on inside a marriage.’ I read that once; the aphorism ended ‘except for the two people who are in it.’ But I suspect that even that is not the truth ...”

Perhaps that’s true — perhaps even couples who stay together for 50 years can’t even say quite how they did it. But that two people can stay together and grow together for a half a century — that’s an accomplishment.

Happy 50th Anniversary, Mom and Dad